Fullmetal Alchemist: After Shamballa
by Lil.Toadie
Summary: Ever wondered what happened in Fullmetal Alchemist after the movie Conqueror of Shamballa? Well, this is the tale for you. Join Ed, Al, Winry, and other main characters once more as they journey in their own worlds and ultimately try to save them. EdWin alert.
1. Chapter 1

"Winry! You have some special guests here to see you!" Grandma Pinako shouts up the stairs.

I stop hammering the piece of automail I'm working on and sit up, smiling. Could it be…?

I run to the window, and grin when I see two familiar figures on the porch waving up to me, one very tall, big, polite, and gentle and the other hot-tempered and short, even though he denies that last fact quite persistently.

"Edward! Alphonse! Welcome home! We missed you, ya know!" I yell.

"Why didn't you call?" Grandma Pinako asks them from the door.

Ed shrugs, his red State Alchemist cape flapping in the breeze. "Too busy, I guess."

"So why are you back, exactly?" I say, puzzled.

Ed and Al exchange a look. A look I know only too well by now.

My face drops. "Ed, show me your arm."

He lifts his left arm.

"Your OTHER arm."

"I…I don't know…"

"Ed!"

He sighs and pulls up his right sleeve to show me the stump where his right arm's automail used to be.

My vision turns red with anger. "Dammit Ed, I just repaired that! I pour my heart and soul into making your automail, and this is what I get for it?! I ought to just leave you the way you are."

Grandma Pinako glares at me. "Winry! Don't scare them off! They pay well!"

Alphonse waves some money in the air encouragingly.

I roll my eyes. "I guess you're right. At least it's helping me develop my skills as an automail engineer."

"If it helps, Winry, we think your automail works fantastic!" Al calls, his voice echoing in the suit of armor his soul was bonded to.

"Worked," Ed corrects.

"Brother, you're always so inconsiderate! I meant that it works just in general—I'm not talking about your last arm!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

"You could've just inferred it! Who knows, I could've been talking about your automail leg!"

I laugh as I head down the stairs, listening to my childhood friends bicker. It's good to have them back, even if they will probably fight most of the short time that they stay. They're always away, always trying to find some way to reverse the curse they brought upon themselves a few years back while trying to transmute their dead mother, which ended up sealing Al's soul in a suit of armor and causing Ed to lose both his right arm and his left leg. I suppose I would've done the same thing they did to get cursed if I had the option to bring my parents alive and the knowhow to do it.

I get to the bottom of the steps and start walking toward the front door, happy to see that they are really there, that it wasn't just my imagination playing tricks on me. I'm almost to them, getting ready to hug Ed and Al and say "I'm glad you're back," almost _there,_ when suddenly my whole world is ripped away from me. I'm fading, drifting, screaming into space, into emptiness, into darkness, and Ed and Al just keep getting farther and farther away from me, going into the unknown, a place I could never get to even if I tried. _Everything is gone,_ I think to myself as I fall through the oblivion.

I wake up in a cold sweat, and find myself in my bed, not in an endless pit of darkness. I'm filled with the slight hope that maybe the Ed and Al part of my dream is true, that they're finally back to me, but then I remember.

They're gone.

I look out my window to the stars, pressing my cheek against the cold glass. "Damn you Elric brothers," I whisper, a warm tear falling down my cold and clammy skin, "Where are you?"


	2. Chapter 2

August 27, 1926

"Al, run away! It's going to explode!" I scream, nearly tearing my brother's coat as I yank him towards me.

"W-what?!" Al yelps, stumbling back as I drag him, "What's going to explode?!"

"THAT!" I say, pointing to a small beaker of a rapidly bubbling substance. "Once the bubbling subsides, everything around it's gonna be toast!"

"Are you sure you didn't take any tips from that uranium bomb guy, brother? This sounds awfully like a bomb," Al asks, a hint of suspicion etched in his voice.

I huff in exasperation. "Who do you take me for? This is my OWN explosive—I don't steal ideas! Now we gotta take cover quick—this thing is gonna pop pretty soon!"

Al and I jump behind my large and cluttered desk for cover and prop some books around us for extra protection. We dare to peek our heads over the top to try to see what the bubbling substance is doing.

"Any minute now," I whisper.

We wait for about a minute more.

"Brother, nothing's happening," Al whispers back, "All it's doing is bubbling over a little."

"Shut up! Something's gonna happen!"

"Brother, are you sure it's going to explode?"

"Yes!"

"Do you really mean that?"

I bite my lip.

"Brother?" Al asks.

"Maybe," I reply, "I don't know, it looked like it was going to."

Al stands up, sighing and shaking his head, and begins to walk toward the vial.

"Stop!" I call from the desk, "It could still explode!"

"If it hasn't by now, it won't ever," Al responds, looking more closely at the beaker, "Plus, brother, I think you mixed up the compounds to put together. Instead of water and a sodium potassium mix, which is what you said you mixed in this lab report you have over here, I think you mixed baking soda and vinegar."

I peer out from the desk tentatively. "Really? You sure?"

"Yeah, come take a look!"

I hesitantly step out from my fort of protection, making my way towards Al with great caution. I'm relying only on my previous experiences in battle to sense what is going to happen next, and this little chemical reaction could be my worst enemy yet.

No, never mind. Izumi was pretty bad.

I sigh as soon as I see it. "Huh. I think you're right. I guess I mislabeled my vials or something. Must've been tired when I doing that." I grinned. "Well, at least now I know the CORRECT combination could result in an explosion."

"Brother, that could've turned out way differently! What if you were just trying to do a baking soda and vinegar reaction?" Al scolds me.

I wave him off with my prosthetic arm, pulling off the misleading labels with my real hand. "Oh, please. I wouldn't do that. There's no point if you already know what's going to happen."

"You never know!"

I roll my eyes. "Fine, fine, whatever. I'm sorry, I won't accidentally mislabel anything again."

There is a pause as I write the new labels on the bottles.

"Chemistry is hard, isn't it?" Al sighs.

"It's nothing like alchemy," I say without looking up.

"But we're gonna get through it, right? We're going to continue to learn about this world and its science and not turn back, not try to open that gate up again, right?"

I stop writing.

"Brother, I saw your letters to Winry. You can't send them to her. You know that, don't you?"

I look up at him, angry. "Of course I know that! I know it's not possible, logical, scientific, anything like that, and I know we've already closed the gate. I just…I just miss it. Our world. I miss everything, everyone there…hell, I even miss Colonel Mustang, if that tells you anything. I…just wanted to pretend I could still talk to her. You know, after I hadn't for such a long time. I took her for granted." I sigh. "I kind of took everything for granted there, didn't I?"

Al smiles at me. "We both did. But now we're here, and we can't take this world for granted now either. It's been two years, Ed. We need to move on."

I look down at the ground. "I guess so."

But I still can't forget about it.

About her.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi guys! Hope you are enjoying this series so far. I honestly just wanted to write this because I was super unhappy with the Conqueror of Shamballa ending, so that's why it seems kind of jumbled and weird.. Therefore, in hope of making things less jumbled, I'm figuring I'm probably going to go back and revise lots of things from the beginning and throughout the series. Just thought you'd want to know :D :P

August 19, 1926

Grandma Pinako finds me asleep with my face pressed against the window the next morning.

"Winry! Get up off of there!" she nags, swatting me with the newspaper she'd been reading, "You're going to get the window all dirty with your drool!"

"Huh?" I mutter, still half-asleep.

Grandma sighs. "Winry, please don't tell me you pulled another all-nighter working on some automail again. It's not good for a girl of your age."

I yawn, and stretch out my arms. "No, Grandma, I went to bed at a reasonable time. And even if I didn't, I'm not a little girl anymore—I can stay up if I want to."

She smiles. "Ah, but you'll always be my little girl."

I stand up and smile back, but it feels empty. I can't forget the nightmare I had last night, and it haunts me.

"Come on now," Grandma calls to me as she hobbles from the room with her walking stick, "Let's have some breakfast."

I help her down the steps and find myself salivating as I smell the scent of good food wafting through the halls. Grandma always knows how to cook, almost as well as she knows how to make automail.

I sit down at the table and help myself to generous servings of bacon, grateful for the food. Den gently licks my foot, trying to get me to slip him a few crumbs.

"So," Grandma starts, looking down at her newspaper while nibbling at a piece of toast, "What do we have to do today?"

"I think we have to repair Mr. Trindle's prosthetic today," I comment through a mouthful of bacon, "Oh, and we should definitely finish the automail for the Irene's cat. We've kept her waiting too long now."

Grandma looks up from her newspaper. "Is that it?"

I close my eyes, trying to remember. "Yeah, I think so. What's wrong?"

She sighs. "It's not enough."

I look at her, puzzled. "What do you mean, not enough?"

She looks at me directly, slamming her hands on the table. Her eyes are angry and seem slightly crazed, as if she has just changed into a completely different person. "You know very well what I mean! Ever since those Elric boys left and stopped coming here, we've been slowly falling into debt! There's not a lot of business in Resembool, you know!"

I stop eating, my fork still in my mouth. I didn't expect Grandma to just explode like that, but it's becoming more common nowadays.

Doctor Gillingham called it dementia, and something that we needed to fret over, as she was going to die from her brain deteriorating in 2 months.

It's been 2 years since then.

She suddenly hunches over and starts to cough into her hands, little specks of red flying out from her cupped fingers. I immediately run over to her and pat her on the back, handing her my napkin. She accepts it quickly, burying her face into it and heaving. I watch with agony slowly building up in my chest. I hate seeing Grandma like this.

After her coughing spat is done, she takes a deep breath, settling back into her chair.

"I'm sorry," she wheezes simply.

"Don't be," I say, taking her cold hands into my warm ones.

"You know I don't have much time left," she says.

"I still think we should call the doctor again," I tell her, "He'll know what to do. Maybe he can help you."

"You already know what his answer will be, Winry," she states sharply, "You know there's nothing anyone can do for me now. Just a whole bunch of bullshit medications that'll elongate the pain."

I look at her sadly, knowing this to be true. Even with the quick examination of her throat I gave her with my amateur doctor skills a few weeks back, I knew that her lungs had already been destroyed past redemption. She is right. There is nothing anyone can do.

"Winry," Grandma says firmly, "When I die, I want you to sell this house."

My gaze snaps to her suddenly. "What?! Why?"

She smiles. "I can tell you right now, you will get depressed and lonely here without anyone besides Den to keep you company."

Den nudges my foot affectionately, as if to argue Grandma's point.

"I-I don't know if…if I can do that," I say honestly, looking away.

"But you must," she replies, squeezing my hand slightly, causing me to look back at her.

Her eyes are filled with tears.

"Winry, I want you to go out into the world for me. Explore it. Find new automail techniques. Find new people. Find a new meaning of life," Grandma says to me, "I know that's what you want too. I've seen that ever since the minute those boys left." She smiles. "You want to find them, don't you?"

I nod, a tear running down my face.

"I want to find them too," she says, "They are like my sons, after all."

She clasps both her hands around mine. Their cold is chilling, but her eyes are filled with a determined fire that makes them feel warm again.

"So…won't you find them for me?"

I nod, the tears now coming down like a waterfall, a waterfall that is both freeing and sorrowful. "Of course, Grandma," I say, hugging her frail body. She seems to relax as soon as I say that, as if a great weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

She starts to stand up, and I have to stop hugging her in order to help her up. She pushes me away when I try to do this, though. She is determined to go on her own.

"Winry, I would like to work outside today, if that is acceptable."

I nod. "Of course it is, Grandma. I'll go and get your tools, so you just go outside and wait for now."

She smiles at me. "You'll always be my little girl," she says out of the blue.

I smile back, realizing that's her way of telling me that she cares for me. "I love you too, Grandma."

She sighs softly, and starts to slowly make her way to the front door. I dry the tears from my eyes as I watch her head out the door, and then head to her workshop to grab her equipment.

Once I gather the most necessary tools she needs to make her automail, I put it all in a box and start to head towards the front door. The box is heavy, so I struggle with trying to open the door outside, and end up having to push it open with my knee.

The day outside is beautiful. It's that time of the year where every day is beautiful in Resembool, where summer is at its peak, and the air is soft and cushioned as the wind brushes through the trees. The air is warm and fuzzy like a blanket, and the world is wonderful.

I turn on the porch to find Grandma slumped over in a rocking chair. She seems as if she is about to fall asleep, but her eyes still signal that she is awake.

I set down the supplies next to the chair. "Grandma, I got your stuff."

"Well," she says quietly out to horizon, "I wasn't expecting this."

"Expecting what?" I ask, kneeling down.

She turns to me, her eyes focusing. "Winry, it appears I have to go now."

I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this. "What do you mean? Grandma, where are you going?"

"I am tired. I'm going to sleep."

She may be tired, but I am confused. "But…wait! You were just…you were just fine! Just a few minutes ago, you were fine!"

She smiles, and closes her eyes. "Winry, you and I have been expecting this for a while now. It's my time."

"But you can't leave me!" I protest helplessly, starting to cry again, "Grandma, don't go! Not now, please!"

She squeezes my hand a little. "I love you, my little girl."

"Grandma…grandma please," I beg desperately. I feel like my brain has known that this was coming soon, but my heart aches, yearning for my Grandma.

"I believe in you…Winry…" she sighs, and breathes her last breath.

I feel her hand. It's ice cold.

She has left me all alone.

I put my face in my hands, beginning to sob. Den comes out of the house and begins to whine at grandma, trying to wake her up.

My dream was right about one thing, I realize.

Everything is gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So this one's kind of short...sorry about that! Also, the reason why these are coming out so relatively quick is that I actually have this story written up way more than Chapter 4 now, but when I get to a major writer's block it's probably going to take me a little bit to write more.

Aaaand I'm done now. Hope you enjoy!

August 27, 1926

Al senses the awkwardness in the air after he talks about Winry, and decides to change the subject.

"So," Al starts, "Have you heard anything from Noah lately? It's been an awful while since her last call."

I shake my head, starting back on labeling my vial. "Nope. You?"

"Would I be asking if I did?"

I give him a devilish look. "I don't know, Al, you seemed pretty close with her right before she left with the other Scar and those other gypsies."

His face flushes, and I relish the feeling of getting the better of him for once. "Brother…it's not like that…"

"Then what's it like?"

"It's like none of your business!"

Suddenly, the telephone on my desk starts to ring. Al and I look at each other, startled. No one ever calls us, as we try to keep to ourselves as much as we can, aside from a few scientific journals we publish our work in anonymously sometimes.

"You get it, brother! It's on your desk!" Al says quickly.

"But," I say, taking a few hurried steps back, "You're closer to it!"

Al glares at me. "That's not a reason!"

"It is now!"

"That's childish!"

"Says the 16-year old to the 20-year old!"

"My soul is actually 19 years old, you know!"

The phone continues to ring.

"C'mon, Al, please! You know I'm not good at being nice on the phone!" I plead.

Al huffs angrily. "Ugh, brother, why do you ALWAYS make me do this kind of stuff!" He stomps over to the telephone, and, still while glaring at me, picks it up.

"Hello, this is the Schmidt residence," Al speaks into the phone with one hand on his hip, clearly still mad at me. Schmidt is our last name we use instead of Elric nowadays, since many officials were after us for our information and/or our capture after we came out of that portal from Shamballa.

There's a pause while the other person on the line says something. Al suddenly looks at me, panicked, his free hand falling limp from his hip. "Um, I don't believe there is any Edward Elric here. Only Schmidts."

I straighten up, alarmed.

Al's face pales considerably as the other person talks to him through the phone. I want to go over to him and hear what's happening, so, trying to be as careful and quiet as I can, I start to tiptoe towards the phone. Al looks at me, his face filled with fear, reminding me that he really isn't that old and isn't as mature as he acts.

" _Stall,"_ I mouth to him.

He nods, and begins to talk again, but it appears they've already hung up, since he sets down the phone.

"What did they say?" I ask, somewhat afraid of what the answer might be.

Al turns to me, is face is as white as a sheet now, his hands shaking with anxiety and worry.

"Someone knows who you are, and would like to speak with you."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So you may or may not have noticed that I made a cover for this thing :3

It's not that great since I was outlining it with a ballpoint pen since I have no art materials anymore, but whatever. I'm kind of proud of it. \^-^/

Honestly, this chapter is my favorite of all the chapters I've officially published so far, since I really love writing from Winry's point of view, but I'll let you guys read it and make your opinions of it on your own. I really hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to follow, fav, and review for more! :P

...

August 26, 1926

I never really understood why Ed and Al burned their house down before they left for Central.

Until now.

It turns out selling a house is much more painful than turning it into ash.

"So you say someone DIED in this house?" Mr. Chubs asks with an over-exaggerated gasp for the third time in the past 10 minutes.

Mr. Chubs really isn't his name. I'm just too tired to remember what his real name is, and don't have the drive to, since this guy is fairly displeasing to me. So, I have come down to the conclusion that he is very overweight, and therefore his name is Mr. Chubs.

I also have discovered I've developed a slightly morbid sense of humor since Grandma died. I suppose it's my way of coping.

"Yes," I say simply, gritting my teeth, even though Grandma didn't really die IN the house. She died on the porch outside.

"How long ago, again?" Mr. Chubs inquires obnoxiously.

"One. Week." I'm trying to get him to pick up the message that I am clearly still grieving.

"And who was it?"

"My…my grandma." It's still hard for me to say it out loud.

"Ohohohhho, you poor thing. You must be so sad," he gushes, patting my head as if I am a puppy.

I am not amused, but I pretend to be thankful anyway, since I have some degree of politeness still ingrained in me. Also, he's my first official customer, and looks like he could maybe point me in the right direction on how to find Ed and Al.

So I will remain polite.

For now.

"How can you stand selling the house so soon?" he asks.

"I just can."

"How so?"

He's getting on my nerves. Nevertheless, I push down my anger and respond calmly. "She gave me some things to do when she died, and I want to go out and do them as soon as I sell the house."

"Ah. I see you're the eager type. Not very specific, though." He takes out a notebook from his coat pocket and starts to write furiously in it with a gold pen that seems to have also come from his pocket.

"Are you…are you seriously doing that?" I ask incredulously.

"I want to make sure," he states, "that I'm buying from a responsible house owner." He looks up at me and smiles shamelessly.

"Should've just burnt it," I mutter.

"What was that?" Mr. Chubs asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing," I say quickly.

He returns to his notepad, tutting his tongue. "So you're doing this without a real-estate agent, hm?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"My undying thirst for independence."

"Or maybe a lack of cash?" he asks with a smirk.

I give him a slightly dirty look. He gets ready to write.

"I'm sticking with independence," I say.

"Refuses…to…elaborate…on…current…economic…status," Mr. Chubs says to himself as he scribbles in his book.

I clench my fists angrily. "Listen, mister, do you want the house or not?"

"My, my, very hasty!"

"I'm serious. I would like to sell this house soon."

He sighs, snapping his notebook closed. "Very well then. I would like to buy it."

"Really?" I say, very surprised by the suddenness of his answer.

"On a few conditions."

I frown. "Well, then. Go ahead."

"I would like to pay 3 million cenz for it."

My mouth drops open in shock and anger. "3 mil—ONLY 3 million cenz?!"

He closes his eyes and nods. "I would also like to have a 20—no, 30% share in the Rockbell automail company."

I laugh in disbelief. "What if I decide to discontinue that business?"

"You need to make money somehow, since you're obviously not doing the best wealth-wise," he replies snarkily, twirling his golden pen in his fingers, "And what's better than a traveling automail shop to make money? Don't tell me you haven't considered doing that."

Dammit, I have considered it. But I'm not letting him know that. "It's still a no deal," I say defiantly, "Although that must've become obvious to you since the first time you opened your mouth to speak with me on this fine morning."

He smiles thinly. "I figured it would be this way. That's why I brought something along that might just change your mind."

"And what's that?" I ask with discontent lacing my voice.

"Information."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hi again! I updated relatively quickly, as you can see...because I just got on my winter break! *cheers* Hope you enjoy this new chapter-and, I assure you, if you are unsure about this story so far, don't fret! Armstrong will appear soon enough. :D

...

August 27, 1926

My eyes widen. "WHAT?!"

"Brother, do I need to say it again?" Al asks with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, color starting to return to his face as he plops himself down in the chair behind my desk.

"No…no, please don't." I slump down into the nearest chair, running my hands through my gold-blonde hair. "I just thought that…that no one had tracked me this far. I thought I had covered my tracks pretty well, but I guess that isn't the case."

"Do you think that they know who I am as well?" Al asks nervously.

"I don't think so. They saw the Al from this world die, remember? And we've tried to keep you as low-profile as possible since that Al's funeral."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, weren't there some eye-witnesses of me coming out of the portal with you?"

"Hughes took care of them for me," I reply.

Al gasps. "Brother! You didn't…kill them, did you?"

I look at him disapprovingly. "No, Al! Who do you think I am, a murderer? Gracia wanted Hughes to not tell anyone, so he just slightly bribed the witnesses to keep their mouths shut."

"Money is never really effective in the long run, brother. You should know that."

I roll my eyes. "It was the best I could do at the time, alright? Jeez, you don't have to be so judgy."

Al closes his eyes and tuts his tongue with disdain.

"Do you know who was speaking on the phone? Did you recognize a voice of some kind?" I ask, changing the subject.

Al shakes his head. "Not really—it was a woman, though, and she sounded really oddly strict. Kind of felt familiar, but I think they were using something to distort her voice, so who knows?"

I sigh, bringing my hands back down from my face. "Dammit. I should've listened in too, just to see if I could recognize something about it."

"It's better you didn't. Just in case you reacted to something they said, and then they heard you, and then they decided to speak to you…you catch my drift, right?"

I glare at him. "I'm not that hotheaded anymore. I've mellowed out over the years, believe it or not."

Al smiles wickedly. "You're still short."

I suck in a deep breath, trying not to explode at him just to prove my point, even though it was true that he was SLIGHTLY taller than I was. But only slightly. "What else did she say?"

"She wants to meet you at what she calls 'the dragon castle,'" Al replies huffily, clearly dissatisfied that I didn't react to his attempt to rile me up.

I groan, shuddering with the thought of my past memories of that place. "When?"

"Tonight at 5:30 on the dot."

"What if I don't go?"

"Judging by the tone of her voice, I'm guessing it's in your best interest to go," Al says simply.

I groan again.

Al comes over and pats my shoulder. "Don't worry, brother. You've faced worse than this before. What's the worst that could happen?"

I give him a look.

"Well, whatever you're thinking, it won't happen. I'll come along, so if something goes—"

"Al, you're not coming."

Al looks alarmed. "Wait, what? Why not?"

I stand up. "Because it's too dangerous."

Al scowls at me, crossing his arms. "Since when has it become more dangerous for me to go somewhere than you?"

I look up at him bluntly. "Since you became a face that everyone thinks is dead."

"Yeah, but no one knows me around here! I've walked around tons of times and I haven't gotten one weird look yet!"

I smirk at him. "Don't you remember that day in the bakery?"

His face turns a shade of bright pink. "How was I supposed to know that wasn't Greed? I hadn't been in this world for that long yet!"

"Yeah but still…there was quite a scene," I snicker.

"That's not the point, brother, and you know it!" Al yells, "I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not!"

I roll my eyes, stuffing my hands deep into my pockets. "Fine. At least I tried."

"I don't care what you—wait, what?"

I shrug, walking over to the coatrack to grab my jacket. "I know if I just say no you're going to follow me anyway. At least, that's what I would do in your situation. I might as well bring you along and know where you are than have you sneaking behind me and all hell breaking loose because of it."

Al smiles at me, impressed. "You seem to have gotten suddenly smarter, brother."

I snort. "I was always smart! Now grab your coat, Al, we've got to get going if we want to make it to the castle on time."

...

The unusually cold summer wind blusters outside, which is definitely not useful for the recording I've been doing. As the brothers exit their house, I press my back against the house's outer wall, trying to make sure they can't see me through my camouflage. I let out a sigh of relief as I see their car disappear into the distance.

They hadn't noticed me.

I slowly reach up and close the window I was using to listen in to their conversations—something I've been developing a habit of, since Hullang has been having me track those suspicious twerps for the past month or so now. I was about to call it quits today since I haven't really gotten anything on them that seems too weird, besides the occasional mentioning of this place called Shamballa and other worlds and whatever the crap.

I pull out a cigarette and cup my hands to light it, smiling to myself.

I hadn't gotten anything…until now.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hi guys! Sorry it took me FOREVER to get this chapter out-I actually had it ready to go wayyy before this (along with several chapters in the future where things get...EEnteresting :) ) but I was traveling and busy and stuff. Sorry for that unnecessary wait, the 6 people who are maybe possibly interesting in this story! But...it's here now, so I hope you enjoy it! :P

August 26, 1926

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Information?"

"Information," Mr. Chubs repeats.

"What kind of information?" I ask skeptically.

"The secret kind," he whispers ominously, waving his his fingers in the air dramatically as if to add some sort of an effect.

I glare at him, my temper finally snapping. "Really? Do you REALLY think I'm in the mood for that kind of bullshit right now?"

He sighs, and pulls out his notebook once more. He flips through the many pages of it with his plump fingers, and I wait steamily. This better be good.

"Edward Elric. Alphonse Elric. Brothers. Childhood friends of yours. Got pulled into some portal 3 years ago, haven't been seen since, right?"

I take a shocked step backward. "H-how do you know…?"

He rolls his eyes. "Oh puh-lease. EVERYONE knows that. Does it take that little to impress you, Rocky?"

"Rocky?"

"I've just decided to call you that."

I laugh. "Well that's pretty much the dumbest attempt at giving me an insulting nickname—including gearhead, by the way!"

Then I remember that I've been calling him Mr. Chubs in my head this entire time.

"Just get on with your stupid information, though," I mutter, somewhat mad about the irony of the situation.

Mr. Chubs seems a little taken aback by my sudden mood swing, but goes with it. "The question is, where are they, right?"

I suck in a clearly irritated breath. "Yup. Please continue."

He tuts his tongue again. "Like I said, you're too hasty. But, nevertheless…"

He turns the notebook towards me so I can see it. On the page, there's a picture of a serious-looking woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes pasted on there that seems to be wearing a navy blue uniform of the military. The woman looks incredibly intimidating, but strangely familiar.

"Do you know who this is?" he asks.

I squint at the photo. "Not really. She kind of looks like someone I know, though."

"Well, you'll know now. Olivier Armstrong, leader and protector of Fort Briggs." He snaps his book shut. "Rumor has it she knows something about where the brothers went."

My eyes widen. "Really?"

He smiles smugly. "That's right."

There's a terse pause between the two of us. I'm waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't.

"…What else?" I finally say, shattering the silence.

"That's it."

"What do you mean 'that's it'?" I growl, "I thought you had _information,_ not some half-assed rumor!"

"Well, there is a little more…" he mentions with a hint of mystery tinted in his voice, trying to get me to bite the bait.

I do bite it, and knowingly. "Tell me!"

He can't contain himself any longer. "The truth is that Miss Olivier's in a bit of a sticky situation right now. She's in a war with the neighboring country Drachma right now, and she's actually losing." He giggles. "Who could believe it, right? The Ice Queen, protector of Fort Briggs, falling to her most hated enemy?"

"So how do Ed and Al connect with her?" I ask, not responding to his last comment.

He glances around, as if he is trying to make sure no one else is listening in, although it's clear that the nearest person is about a quarter of a mile away.

Leaning in, he mutters, "Well, rumor has it that she's trying to open the portal between the two worlds up again just like a few years back to go get those new weapons."

I genuinely gasp. "But…that's impossible! Ed and Al closed the gate! They can't…do that anymore…can they?"

He shrugs dramatically. "You never know what people will do to survive. Now, time to sell."

It's my time to smile smugly at him. "Actually, it's NOT time to sell."

"But you said that you'd give me it if I—"

"I never SAID anything," I point out, interrupting his petty and child-like protests, "I just simply inquired."

His mouth opens and closes like a fish in shock as he tries to think of something to retort back at me, realizing his mistake too late. His eyes suddenly light up, and we whips out a recorder from his large coat pockets, grinning triumphantly.

"Ah, sweet Rocky, so innocent, and so…dumb," he laughs airily, a degree of relief present in his voice, "It appears that I was recording this whole conversation as to avoid such a situation as the one I am—I mean, almost WAS—in. I now have audio proof that you indeed…why are you still smiling?" He stops his speech midway, noticing I still have my smirk plastered on my face.

"Oh nothing. It's just that you're really stupid. But, please, continue, regardless of my expression," I say lightly.

"What is it?" he demands, "Do I have food on my face or something?"

I sigh. "Oh, well, a recording doesn't really help anyone if the person who you're recording didn't say anything incriminating, right?"

He starts to look like a fish again, and I take that as my cue to head on back into the house.

"W-where do you think you're going?" Mr. Chubs finally manages to sputter as I step through the door.

"Grabbing my stuff and getting on the next train out of here," I reply nonchalantly.

"But what about your Grandma's—"

"Pshhh," I laugh, interrupting him, "I already sold this house to the Trindles down the road! For a much lesser price than you had offered, by the way!"

He is shocked again. I'm beginning to think of him as Mr. Chubby Fish now.

"B-b-but…!"

"Bye now!" I say cheerfully, finally getting the chance to slam the door on his face.

It's time to pack my suitcase.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Yayyy, another chapter! I personally really like this one, since...well, you'll see. Enjoy!

August 27, 1926

I glare at the back of Ed's head angrily, trying to not be too worried for him as he approaches the decrepit castle.

When Brother said I could come along, I thought he meant that I'd be by his side, ready fight alongside him, facing our enemy together.

Not friggin' hiding in a bush 100 feet away.

His excuse for this plan of attack was the same that he'd used to try and get me to stay at our lab/home.

"Al," he'd said in the car, his long ponytail flapping in the summer air, "You can come with me, but I need you to stay hidden during this meeting just because of the fact that people think you're dead."

"What if you're in trouble? How will I know to come and help?" I asked pointedly.

He sighed. "I'll yell for you really loud if I need help."

"That's not going to be loud enough."

He threw his hands up in the air with an irritated manner as if he were about to say something, causing the car to swerve a little bit. He gasped, and immediately regained control.

I just stared at him the whole time, unimpressed.

"W-what else can we do?" Ed asked breathlessly.

"Scream."

"What?"

"Promise to scream as loud as Winry did when she was younger when you broke her mini automatons, and I promise I'll stay hidden."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. If I am in trouble, I will scream like Winry. Happy?"

I had nodded agreeably back then, but now I'm wondering if I had asked enough for exchange to stay hidden, since the brambles are starting to stick to my trousers, and I'm pretty sure there's a spider on the top of my head.

As I check the top of my head real quick, Ed turns slightly toward me right before he's about to enter the castle.

I flip him the bird from the hand that's currently resting on the top of my head.

He seems to laugh at this, and then he enters the small castle door, the tail of his long trench coat the last thing I see as he disappears into the dark stairway inside.

I push down the worry as I see him fully disappear.

He's going to be fine.

He's the Fullmetal Alchemist, after all.

—

As soon as I step inside the castle, I'm swallowed in a wave up darkness. I hold my lantern up to my eye level, trying to get a grasp of my surroundings.

The castle looks like it's falling apart, the last fight fought in it by Envy and I not helping it's disheveled condition. Slimy green mold bound to give you a disease just by touching it grows on all the stone walls, with the exception of a few parts where bugs and spiders have made their nests. In the left corner of the room I'm in, I see a family of opossums chattering their teeth at me, afraid of the light the lantern gives off. The castle is awfully cold for this time of year, and I find myself shivering in my coat that I was previously sweating in.

In other words, this castle gives me a slight suspicion that there's something evil in it.

I begin climbing up the stairs, well aware but uncomfortable with the fact that the more I climb, the farther away I get from Al. I nearly am at the top when I trip on an uneven stair.

"Agh!" I hiss, tumbling up a few steps in my surprise.

Once I've checked I that I haven't seriously injured myself, I laugh dryly, realizing that I had tripped on that step the first time I had come to this castle.

I must laugh too loud because, all of the sudden, lights turn on on the top floor.

Inwardly cursing my loud mouth, I press my back against the side of the steps, holding my breath.

"Edward Elric!" a female voice booms, "We know you're there. Please stop being childish and come out right now!"

I suck in a breath at the mention of the word "childish," also realizing that, for some reason, that voice sounds strangely familiar. Nevertheless, I keep my temper in check. Now is not the time to blow up at someone.

The voice sighs. "Edward Elric," she starts again unenthusiastically, as if she's reading a script, "You son of a shrimp-sized, baby-faced pipsqueak, come out and play with mama. Unless you are too chicken to?"

My vision turns red. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A SON OF A SHRIMP-SIZED BABY-FACED PIPSQUEAK WHO IS THE SIZE OF A GRAIN OF SALT?" I scream, tearing away from my hiding spot towards the mysterious woman.

I'm about to ram into her, giving her what she deserved, when I stop in my tracks, realizing who she is.

"Gotcha," she says, smirking and pointing a gun at my face.

"Lieutenant…Hawkeye?" I ask, dumbfounded.

She snorts. "Hawkeye? That sounds like some dumb fairy tail character. My name is _definitely_ not Hawkeye."

I laugh nervously, all my anger morphing into caution as I realize she has a possibly loaded gun pointed in my face, poised to kill. "Sorry…you look like someone I know—I mean, knew."

She tilts her head at me, amused. "Seems like you say that to a lot of people, Ed."

I look at her, concerned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh nothing," she replies simply, puzzling me even more. She gestures to a uncomfortable-looking chair sitting in the center of the room with her gun.

"Care to tell me a few things about yourself, Mr. Elric?"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hi again guys! Sorry for the wait (again)-I have just gotten so busy (and also sick at some points) and haven't been able to post! But...here we are. Thank you all so much for reading this and your feedback in the reviews, and I hope you enjoy the newest chapter in this series. :D

...

August 27, 1926

The earliest train out of Resembool was at 5:30 in the morning. Usually waking up early is not something I tend to enjoy, but I was more than ready to set out on my journey as soon as I could this morning.

So, here I am.

With my suitcase propped against the metal framed bench and Den in his carryon crate, I am waiting for a train at the train station to go away from my hometown and not return until I have found the Elrics.

I check my watch. It's 5:50.

Of all mornings, why did the train have to be late THIS morning?

I begin to twiddle my thumbs, thinking about the task Grandma had set before me. Do I have a plan, exactly? Or am I really just deluding myself by following a vague rumor about a war in the north, and just being plain old stupid to think that this supposed war had anything to do with where my childhood friends are?

I clench my right fist, filled with a determined fire. It doesn't matter if I have a plan or not. I'll just float along, following any lead I can get—maybe do some research if I need to. I'm going to find those little bastards eventually.

I'm shaken out of my thoughts as I hear the sound of a train whistle being blown further down the tracks, the faint _huffapuffa_ sound rattling in my ears, soothing my pensive thoughts. Just hearing the sound of machines working correctly calms me, even in situations like these.

I stand up with my suitcase in one hand and Den's crate in the other as the train approaches, the disrupted wind causing my long blonde ponytail to whip around in my face.

This is it.

I'm really doing this.

The train slows to a halt and sighs as steam is released and the doors open for the passengers to exit and enter through. I suck in a deep breath, and then am just about to enter the train when I bump into someone.

Hard.

I stumble backward from the person I ran into and topple onto the metal platform, my luggage spilling out all over the platform, causing Den to yelp loudly. The person I hit seems to not be really affected at all by my impact—it almost seems like the damage was rebounded back to me.

"Ughhh," I groan, rubbing my bottom, which seemed to now be a little bruised, "Sorry about that. My bad."

"Ms. Winry Rockbell? Could that perhaps be you, I hope?" a familiar male voice inquires dramatically, scooping up Den's crate effortlessly in one big motion. Through the metal sheets of the kennel I can hear Den's tail thumping around ecstatically, as if Den has already recognized this man.

"Major…Armstrong?" I reply back, quite surprised.

Shading the early morning sun from my eyes, I look up at the hulking figure. It's definitely Armstrong, only something is radically different.

"When did you grow a beard?" I ask, shocked, "I thought you took a lot of pride in your chin!"

I sense that this is a sensitive topic for him, since his eyes immediately get mistier. Even so, he holds his head high and chin/beard up. "Growing a beard at my age is considered an important tradition that has been passed down the Armstrong family for generations," he sniffs.

"Oh," I say, a little sympathetic, "Okay."

I suddenly realize where we are.

"Major, can I inquire why you are in Resembool?" I ask politely.

A fat tear falls down his bearded face, causing me to panic—what had I done wrong now? "I heard about your dear grandmother's passing, and I missed the funeral. I came here to express my regards," he replies somberly.

I regain my composure and smile. "Oh, don't worry about it. It was a small gathering anyway—I think that's how she would've—"

I'm interrupted by the sound of the train whistle going off again, signaling that it would be going soon.

"Listen," I say to him quickly, "I actually have to go ahead and board my train now. It was nice talking—"

"Where are you going?" Major Armstrong interrupts with suspicion lacing his deep voice.

I gulp. I do not want him of all people to know where I'm headed, since I'm sure he'll try to stop me, especially since there could be a war going on. "Um, nowhere in particular."

"Then I'll accompany you!" he responds cheerily.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my head. "No, really, you don't have to—"

"Please! I insist on escorting you to your destination!" he assures me, his mind obviously set. I'm pretty sure he either feels sorry that he missed the funeral and wants to repent for that, or he's just being his overly dramatic and caring self.

The crate in Armstrong's arms seems to shake, Den clearly wanting to go back on the ground.

I glance back at the train. It could leave any minute now.

"Don't you need a ticket or something?" I ask hopefully.

He shakes his head, grinning. "I'm military personnel. They'll understand." He seems to sparkle in the early morning light when he says that.

I sigh, inwardly groaning. At least I had given it a shot. "Fine," I relent, picking up my suitcase and stepping onto the locomotive. I hear Armstrong follow me from behind, the weight of his muscular body making the stairs going into the main car creak slightly.

As soon as Den is put in the animal car and Armstrong and I are both settled in our seats, (he takes up two) the train begins to move. I look out the window, trying to get a mental picture of my hometown, trying to get my mind to remember the look of the dawn sunrise and the dewy grass that I've grown to love all of my 20 years of life.

I close my eyes and sigh once we officially are out of Resembool, my heart both filled with sadness and excitement at the same time. I had just left my grandma, leaving her alone forever, but I had also just gotten one step closer to find Ed and Al and fulfill her wishes.

I suddenly open my eyes, remembering that Armstrong is here with me, and it's annoying to think that he's been watching me this whole time and not said anything. I turn towards him and am surprised to see that he's not paying any attention to me at all. Instead, he's leaning out of his seats and looking in the aisle suspiciously, as if he's searching for someone.

I clear my throat, and his torso immediately snaps back toward me.

"Whatcha doing?" I inquire in as innocent and suspicion-free of a tone I can muster.

"…Nothing," he replies, his voice indicating that he was still thinking about something, "Nothing at all. Just thought I saw something."

I raise an eyebrow, and just as I'm about to ask more about it, he cuts me off.

"So, Winry Rockbell," Armstrong says loudly, "Where are we headed to today?"

Shit. I forgot I needed to do come up with answer to that. I should've just let him keep looking for…whatever he was looking for. "Just…back to Central," I say, not really lying since that city is on the way, "I want to ask Mustang something." Shit, shit, shit! I have no intention to ask Mustang something, and no clue what to ask at all.

I really hope Armstrong doesn't buy that now.

He smiles. "Oh? What are asking him?"

I panic. "Um, confidential."

He looks confused. "Pardon?"

"It's confidential," I manage. I've never stellar at lying, only at stretching the truth, and this lie feels like it's going to turn out disastrous—mostly for me.

He looks as if he's going to say something else, but then he stops, his eyes narrowing. I look at him, confused, and am about to ask him if he's feeling okay when he puts a meaty finger to his lips, signaling for me to be quiet. My heart begins to race, wondering what was the problem.

Suddenly, Armstrong reaches underneath his seats, causing me to gasp in alarm. I hear a familiar-sounding squeal erupt as a figure is yanked from underneath the seats by Armstrong's large arms.

"I found a mole, Ms. Rockbell!" Armstrong announces, "And it's not pretty at all!"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** Helloooo, people! Sorry for the slightly long wait again-school's been a mess, and, as you may know, I've started a new fanfic about Gravity Falls, so that's been taking up a lot of my writing time. Luckily, today I just sat down I cranked out a couple thousand words, so here we are! Enjoy, and please r&r, it really helps! I read all of the reviews (although I don't respond to them because I feel kinda weird when it redirects me to a "private message" page. I mean, honestly, why can't I just comment on my reviews like a normal person?! xD

Anyways...I'm done now. Have fun reading this one. It's...well...you'll have to find out on your own. :D

...

August 27, 1926

My ears perk up at the sound of Ed's scream.

It's not really a scream, actually. It sounds more like a…yup, it's a string of insults.

I sigh to my self, shaking my head. I've only been waiting for about 3 minutes, and Brother has already given himself away by being a quick-tempered idiot.

"'I'm not hotheaded anymore, Al. Now, go hide in a bush,'" I whisper irritably, mimicking Ed poorly. I am just about to come out of hiding to go help my brother when I hear a different sound.

Someone else is here.

I immediately squat back down, trying to be as silent as I possibly can. A few seconds later, a figure emerges out of the wooded area.

I stifle a gasp.

"Is this it?" Colonel Mustang asks Jean Havoc.

Only it's not Mustang and Havoc. I sigh, somewhat relieved and disappointed after remembering this fact. I forget that I'm not in Shamballa anymore more frequently than I believe I should.

"This is the only place around that had a rumored dragon sighting at it," Not-Havoc replies, lighting a cigarette. Mustang immediately knocks it out of his hands.

Havoc glares at his companion. "What was that for?"

"We can't have anyone knowing we're here. Plus, you know I hate fire," Not-Mustang growls. I try to hold in a laugh at the thought of Mustang of all people hating fire.

He suddenly turns around sharply in my direction, and all the humor of the situation immediately vanishes.

"What's up, boss?" Not-Havoc asks nonchalantly, as if he does this kind of thing every day.

Not-Mustang suddenly plunges his hand into the bushes I'm hiding in and pulls me out, the brambles scratching up my face as I'm whipped past them at lightning speeds. Even though this Mustang hates fire, he's one hell of a strong guy.

"Look what we have here," he laughs wickedly, a laugh I would've never dreamed coming out of the mouth of the real Mustang.

—

"I wouldn't mind saying a few things about myself. My favorite color is red. I like chemistry and rockets. I also have a knack for getting myself in these types of situations at least once a month. What's about you?" I banter, trying to lighten the mood.

The other Hawkeye but not really Hawkeye points to the uncomfortable chair again with that goddamn gun. "Sit."

Since I'm technically being held at gunpoint, I have no other choice but to do the obvious.

I sit.

"Tell me, Ed, what's your opinion on Jews?"

I have to admit, I'm a bit taken aback by this question. "Excuse me?"

"Jews," she says impatiently, "How do you feel about them?"

I don't really know much about Jews, and I know much less about their culture and lifestyle, as Al and I have tried to kind of keep out of most things, unless it was really important. Nevertheless, what I do know is that Jews are beginning to get persecuted all too much like how the Ishvalans were before their war.

I don't want to see an Ishvalan war happen here to the Jews.

"I think they're people worth standing up for," I state defiantly, almost sure that this Hawkeye will get mad, as do most people in Germany when you try to say anything that goes against the "inspiring" Hitler's beliefs.

Instead of what I was expecting, however, Hawkeye simply nods.

"What about gypsies? People of color? Women? Homosexuals?" she asks.

I'm really confused now. I had gone into this interrogation thinking to answer questions about my past world. "Uh, yeah. Same feeling. For all of them."

She nods again. "Okay, a few more questions."

I inwardly groan, thinking for sure that the rest of these questions are going to be about Shamballa. They had to be. "Shoot," I say reluctantly, and then immediately regret my choice of words. "FIGURATIVELY shoot," I add quickly, glancing at her aimed gun again.

She looks at me sternly. "Do you know a man by the name of Dr. Mabuse?"

I straighten up at that name, recognizing it immediately. "Yes! I mean…no," I correct myself, "Dr. Mabuse was an alias and a character created by Fritz Lang."

"And what about parallel worlds?"

I suck in my breath. I knew this was coming, I just knew it. Still though…"Goddammit."

"Excuse me?" Hawkeye inquires curiously.

I immediately color. "Oh…did I say that out loud?"

"You're from one, aren't you? Everyone in on things knows you came from that portal."

"Th-that's not true. You must be mistaking me for someone else," I sputter. Damn that Hughes and his blabber mouth and inability to shush people up.

She rolls her eyes. "Everyone, you can come out now. It's him, and he's good."

From the unlit parts of the room, a scattered group of about 5 or so people emerge, all of them still looking cautiously at me, as if I'm going to pounce at them or something.

The other Hawkeye removes her gun's aim from my face and puts it back in its holster on the side of her hip, prompting me to let out a small sigh of relief. "C'mon everyone," she says, "You don't need to be afraid of him. He wouldn't be much of a threat anyway."

I glare at her for that blatant insult. "Am I allowed to ask some questions now? Because all of this seems very shady to me."

"No need to ask," she replies, "I'll just explain. My name's Liza Rocco, not that stupid weird name from before. You know Fritz Lang, correct?"

"I thought I was done answering questions, _Liza,_ " I growl.

"You know him though, right?" she asks impatiently, fingering her gun.

"Yes," I relent.

"Well, he secretly started an organization called the Liberalities, or just the Libs for short, when that whole…thing with that portal happened. We're a group of people dedicated to stopping basically about any serious injustice or imbalance to Germany's peace that may happen."

"And I'm guessing you all are representatives of this secret club thing, right?"

"That's right."

"So…why am I here again?"

She smiles. "Many of the people in our group have been either persuaded by unjust groups like the Nazis or just wimped out at the thought of facing anyone who could possibly hurt them or their family. Therefore, the need to recruit some more people.

We've seen you fight, Ed. We know you have some brains. And, judging by the way you answered just a few of our interrogation questions just now, you seem like you have decent morals, although you are a bit on the stubborn-slash-annoying side. So, we've decided to request that you join our little group."

I snort. "Request seems like a weird word for something that should be my choice."

"Ah, but remember that parallel world you came from? Shamballa, was it? We have some leads on it."

"I know nothing of this 'Shamballa' you speak of," I reply huffily.

She sighs and pulls a few photographs out of her pocket, and hands them to me. My curiosity taking over me, I take a look at the pictures. All of them are slightly blurry, as if they were taken quickly, all of them are in black in white, and all of them are in different place. They all have one thing in common, though—there's a strange, unnatural opening in the ground that almost looks as if it's glowing. It's not quite open, however—it almost seems like there's a thick layer of ice covering it.

"What are these?" I ask, pointing to one of the strange holes.

"That is something that we don't know much about," she replies, "All we really can say for sure is that it's something that certain people don't want anyone to know about. Certain people meaning some of the remaining members of the Thule society."

"They still exist?" I ask, quite shocked.

"It's not the Thule society that's the problem anymore, though," she explains, "Yes, an actual Thule society does exist, but it looks as if it's going to dissolve in a few years or so. No, the real threat is the crazies that left the Thule society and made their own secret organization called the Amber Eye. It's dedicated to picking up where the Thule society left off, and finding another way to Shamballa. Oh, and also, finding you."

"Wow, a whole organization for me? I'm flattered," I laugh dryly.

"We're looking to stop them, since, if they do find Shamballa…well, we would pretty much fail as a society, as this whole world would be thrown into chaos, just like it nearly did 2 years ago."

"And you think that those holes could be related to Shamballa, since the Amber Eye is taking such interest in it?"

Liza grins. "See? You got the brains."

"What's in this for me?"

She shrugs. "Making sure the whole world isn't thrown into some sort of nightmare? Sticking with a capable group that'll be able to help you get away from the Amber Eye, since I guarantee they've almost found you if they haven't already? Protecting your old friends in your other world, maybe…a special someone?"

Winry pops into my head, and I shake the thought of her away immediately. It's _not_ like that. I just miss her. A lot.

"Are you in or not?"

I look at square in the eyes without hesitation. "Count me out."

And, before she can respond, she's interrupted by a gunshot sounding from outside.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Hey everyone, I'm back! Sorry I haven't updated this in FOREVER-I decided to take a break until March 3 to work on musescore stuff and schoolwork. However, since I finished all the stuff that I wanted to earlier than I predicted I would...here I am! I will probably be focusing on this story more than I will be on Just another summer in Gravity Falls, as I like where this is going right now, so be prepared for some updates!

Aaand that's it! Hope you enjoy this new chapter! :D

...

August 27, 1926

I groan, realizing who the supposed "mole" Armstrong pulled out from under our seats is.

"This morning just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" I mutter to myself, putting my forehead in my hand in my disbelief and annoyance as I watch Mr. Chubs be dangled precariously by one foot by the major.

"Do you know this man?" Major Armstrong asks as he looks at Mr. Chubs with scrutiny.

"Yes," I say sulkily, "Throw him out the window."

"W-wait!" Mr. Chubs sputters, "I can explain!"

"How can you possibly explain THIS?" I spew, "Why are you here? Why are you following me—" I look at one of his clenched, pudgy hands, "—with a RECORDING device? Seriously? And…" I realize where he was stationed, and simultaneously realized what clothes I had on. "You were LOOKING UP MY SKIRT?"

"N-no, I promise, I didn't—"

I grab a wrench out of my bag and pull my hand back, ready to chuck it if he dares to say another word.

"YOU BASTARD!" Armstrong yells at him, "YOU SCOUNDREL-EYED, WEASEL-FACED, MONKEY-BLUBBERING COW POOP YOU!"

I suddenly notice how the rest of the train car has gone quiet, and everyone in it was looking at the scene taking place where we were located.

I take a deep breath and set down my wrench. "Major, just put him down for now," I say quietly.

"BUT MISS WINRY, THIS MAN—"

"Major, we're causing a scene."

He glances around, his face growing pink with embarrassment and passion. "This man is horrendous!" he exclaims to the watching train car audience as he forcefully puts Mr. Chubs down in the nearest available seat, which is right next to mine. I scoot over, trying not to touch him at all. Armstrong immediately takes out a pen and paper and starts scribbling, looking up from his scrawling every once in a while to glare at Mr. Chubs.

Conversation resumes in the car, and I let out a little sigh of relief.

"Can I explain now, pretty please?" Mr. Chubs sniffs, seeming to go back to being his old snotty self.

"You can get off at the next stop," I snap back,

"I didn't look up your skirt, if you are concerned about that."

"Tell me again how I could NOT be concerned about everything that just happened?"

"If you could just let me explain…?"

"Fine," I spit, "But I'm pretty sure I know what happened."

"Oh really now?" Mr. Chubs asks, "By all means, tell me."

"Well, let's see," I say, "I trick you into telling me information, you get angry, and you follow me to get some sort of revenge?"

He looks at me dumbfounded. "Actually…yes, that's it."

"Get out," I say, crossing my arms.

"Except for you forgot the fact that I want to learn what your deceased grandmother's wish was."

"Just go away, goddammit!" I snarl at him. My heart aches at the mention of my grandma, but I pretend it isn't there. I'll have more time to grieve once I find the Elrics.

As if it's on cue, the train slows down and toots its horn, signaling that it's stopping.

"Well then," Mr. Chubs states, standing up and straightening his suit, "I'm done now. Your muscle man is obviously highly trained in the art of detecting unwanted presences, so I'm just going to give up on finding out your secret."

"Yeah, yeah, bye," I say while ignoring him, shooing him away with my hand while I pull an issue of _Metal and More Monthly_ out of my bag.

"I am _not_ a muscle man," Armstrong mutters angrily, still scribbling away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Chubs leave our area and exit the train.

Good riddance.

I crack open the magazine in my hands, flipping to the automail section. The train starts to move again, and my stomach lurches a bit, but I'm too enthralled in by article to really care. Just as I'm getting to the third page, I notice that Armstrong has been tapping my shoulder.

"Hm?" I look up at him.

He grins and turns the paper he was scribbling on me toward me. "An accurate representation of that man, used with a drawing style that's been passed down through the Armstrong family for generations," he explains.

I stifle a laugh, as Armstrong's art depicts Mr. Chubs as an overly fat toad with devil's horns, with a speech bubble that says 'Alex is a muscle man.' "You should consider selling those," I comment, passing the paper back to him.

Only Armstrong isn't looking at me anymore. He's scanning the aisle again, just like before.

"Armstrong?" I repeat, "Major, the mole is gone, remember? He left last stop."

He continues to look, ignoring my words.

"Armstrong, no one is out there."

His gaze turns back to mine. "…I know," he finally says, and his eyes seem to clear, as if he has wiped away all that leftover suspicion. "So…what were we talking about before all of that rumpus?"

I immediately drop my magazine and redden. We were talking about what I was going to say to Mustang when I got to Central!

I look at Armstrong real quick, and he seems genuinely confused.

As if he forgot what our previous conversation was all about.

"Um," I say, quickly bringing my magazine back to my face, "Um, the differences between regular steel and fortisteel automail!" I whip the magazine down on the table in between us so he can see it, and point to the article.

"I do not remember discussing an automail advertisement," Major Armstrong replies, "Wasn't it something about Mustang?"

I'm about to deny that, when suddenly I get an idea.

"Oh yeahhhh!" I exclaim, as if I had just remembered something, "Oh yeah, that's it! I was telling you it was confidential but that…that was totally a joke!" I laugh, my chuckle sounding slightly nervous. "No, I actually am heading over there to talk about automail. I thought I'd maybe discuss helping equip some of his soldiers in the army with metal prosthetics, and maybe even talk a little about…" I glance back at the ad. "Fortisteel."

Armstrong looks mildly impressed. "Well, I see you've been busy, Winry! You remind me of my sister, Olivier—she's always had something on her mind to do."

I sit up at the mention of that name, recognizing it from when I talked to Mr. Chubs for the first time. "Olivier? You've never mentioned her before."

He sighs. "I try to avoid talking about her a bit, as people tend to…" He sniffs suddenly.

"What? Tend to what?" I ask eagerly.

A small tear rolls down his right cheek, glistening in the morning light. "They tend to associate me as the weak brother when they realize we are related."

I feel kind of bad for being so eager before. "Aw, Major, you're the strongest person I know. Why—I mean HOW could anyone think of you as weak?"

Armstrong rolls his shoulders, obviously feeling better after my little compliment. "Well, she's the ruler of Fort Briggs, and to do that you have to have…well, you kind of have the abrasive personality of a stubborn mule, and a toughness so no one disobeys you. My dear sister has both of these qualities, possibly more than is required, and I…I do not." He sniffs again, his mood suddenly swinging so that his eyes begin to quiver once more.

"Oh, but you're amazing!" I say quickly, not wanting an Armstrong breakdown on my hands, "I think that you are just the greatest major and…uh…you don't need to be like your sister to be a great major! You are just fantastic!" I find myself scrambling for words near the end of my supportive speech.

Armstrong sniffs, and wipes his long-lashed eye. "Do you really believe that, Miss Winry?"

"O-of course!"

He smiles, sniffling. "You really quite an amazing lady, Winry. So honest and true…thank you for your kind words."

I gulp, remembering that I had just lied to him about the whole Mustang conversation. "Of course," I repeat, quieter now.

He beams. "Is there anything else you wish to talk about? We have a whole—" He checks his wrist and frowns when he realizes there is no watch there "—approximately 2 hours left until we reach Central!"

I check my real watch. "Actually more like 10," I correct, slightly groaning, "It's a lot of kilometers."

He smiles, awaiting the answer to his question.

"Um," I say, "Actually, maybe we could talk a little more about Olivier? I'm kind of curious."

His face immediately darkens. "Oh," he replies with a bit of sadness in his voice, "What else would possibly want to know about her?"

"Well…what is she doing right now? Anything big happening around Fort Briggs?" I ask hopefully. I want to see if he'll confirm the rumor Mr. Chubs told me about the war.

His face immediately becomes more worried, and I see a bead of sweat roll down his bald head. "I-I don't know. No. Nothing. There is nothing."

I arch my eyebrow. "Is there any war going on?"

"It's none of my business."

"Excuse me?" I question, suddenly very, very interested.

"I mean, none of _your_ business. It's none of my—your—business," Armstrong quickly remedies his previous sentence, looking flustered.

"What is none of your business, major?" I feel kind of mean for interrogating him so hard, as he looks extremely uncomfortable, but I _have_ to gain something out of this conversation. He knows something, and he's going to spill.

"It's…" He suddenly just stops talking, and starts scribbling furiously in his notebook again.

"Armstrong? What's none of your business?" I repeat.

He doesn't reply or even react to my question, leading me to believe that he either gone deaf in that split second or is refusing to talk so he won't give anything away to me.

I slump down in my seat, unimpressed and a bit annoyed. I thought I was actually going to know if there was a war or not, and although my suspicion of it has significantly increased, I still don't know much about it.

I sigh and continue reading my magazine, the slight thought that Armstrong could be drawing a caricature of me lingering in the back of my mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Hey guys, it's me again! Sorry for the INCREDIBLY long wait this time-I've had this chapter and a few chapters ahead ready to share, but I want to make sure it matches up with the future plan of the story before I release them. Also, I probably would've shared this sooner if I had not been working on a new story that I actually am really loving writing (I'll give you a hint: the series starts with a T and ends with an A :D) But, don't worry-this story will be finished!

That's all. Enjoy! :P

...

August 27, 1926

I smile hopefully at my captors as I'm dangled precariously by my shirt by Not-Mustang. "Hi there…?"

He grins menacingly. "Hello, boy. Mind if I ask you why you were hiding in the bushes?"

"I was playing hide and go seek," I explain.

"How old are you again?" Not-Havoc chimes in while picking up his cigarette off of the grassy ground, dusting it off.

"Hold _on,_ you didn't let me _finish_ ," I reply with mock impatience, "I was going to say 'with my baby sister,' but you cut me off."

"What's your baby sister's name?" Not-Mustang asks quickly.

"Uh, Winry."

"Age?"

"Four, and she's shooting up like a _weed_ —"

"Where is she now?"

I shrug as best as I can while in the air. "How am I supposed to know? I'm playing hide and go seek with her!"

Not-Havoc looks confused. "But you're hiding, so that means she's seeking, so shouldn't you know where she is?"

I momentarily panic. "Uh, well, we play hide and seek where we…um, we both hide."

Not-Havoc scratches his head with his cigarette-holding hand. "How does that work?"

"Well…we just hide…and we…um…keep hiding until one of us sees each other."

Not-Havoc shakes his head. "That's gotta be one of the weirdest and bullshittiest excuses for hiding in a bush."

I feel the butterflies in my stomach rise to my throat. "But it's true! We really do play that game!"

"You don't have a sister, do you? You have a brother, who is right inside of that castle RIGHT NOW, DON'T YOU?" Not-Mustang asks me, his grip tightening the louder his voice got.

I begin to choke from fear. How does he know about Ed? "I…" I try to say, but nothing recognizable escapes my mouth.

"DAMMIT BOY, ANSWER ME!" Not-Mustang yells right in my face, his breath smelling startlingly disgusting and his teeth looking thin and rotten. He seems almost like the polar opposite of the Mustang I knew from Shamballa.

Not-Havoc takes this time as the perfect opportunity to have a smoke, and starts to light his cigarette. Not-Mustang immediately reacts, and his grip loosens on my shirt.

"Pallac, I am NOT kidding about the fire," Not-Mustang says to Not-Havoc, (who apparently is Pallac in this world) turning to face him.

Just like Pallac took his chance to take a smoke, I'm taking my chance to run.

I rip my way out of Not-Mustang's grasp, and he tries to hold onto me, but he's too late; instead, he receives a large portion of the front of my shirt, along with a few of my buttons. I tumble onto the grass and begin to sprint—I don't know where to go, so my panicked mind thinks of Ed, and so I start toward the castle. From few feet behind me I hear the angry roar of Not-Mustang as he realizes I've escaped and a "Goddammit, Hullang," from Pallac, and I can feel the duo's footsteps behind me. Although I consider myself as a decently fast runner, I can hear them gaining on me, matching my every step and gaining an inch for every few feet.

About halfway to the castle, I feel a whoosh of air as a hand barely skim my neck. No, not a hand, I realize—it was too quick and light to be a hand.

It was a knife.

My brain immediately goes into panic life-or-death mode, and that fuels me to run faster than I had ever before, every muscle in my body screaming as I dash towards the door. I can hear the footsteps behind me, the grunts as the try to keep up with my sudden change in speed. I can feel the slight drizzle of blood dripping down my back from the knife cut on the back of my neck, mixing with the sweat that adorns my entire body. I want to yell for Brother, but I'm afraid it'll take up too much breath.

Just as I'm almost there, the final dash, the winning 10 feet away from the castle, I hear a gunshot from behind me.

I immediately stop and, very, very slowly turn around towards the sound.

Not-Mustang (who I assume is named Hullang from what Pallac said) is standing about twenty feet away from me, a handgun pointed toward the sky. He then swivels the firearm so it is pointing toward me.

"Put your hands in the air," Hullang yells with venom, "And stay still, or else I shoot."

….

Liza and I exchange surprised glances and both race down the stairs, the rest of the Libs following us close behind. Thoughts about Al and what could've happened to him just then zoom through my head at unreal speeds, no matter how I try to think positively and try and hope he's okay.

I'm about to bust through the door and see what happened to my little brother when Liza suddenly stops and yanks me back suddenly. I let out a slight "oof" as I'm thrown back by her strong grip.

I turn to her quickly, seething. "What are you doing? We have to get out there!" I hiss.

She shakes her head, which only makes me angrier. "We also can't just go busting through the door like that—we don't know who's waiting outside. It could very well be an ambush."

I shrug off from her grasp forcefully. "My _brother_ is out there, lady. I'm going. _Now._ And if you want to come with, by all mean, the door is open," I spit at her, and storm into the sunlight.

I stumble out into the open, momentarily blinded by the brightness, and then I see Mustang and Havoc.

I blink, remembering that it's not actually Mustang and Havoc.

That belief is reinforced when I notice that Al is out in the open, with his hands up, and Anti-Mustang is approaching him with a gun pointed in his face.

"Hey!" I yell desperately, trying to get their attention off of Al. Anything to save my brother from a possible bullet through the head.

My distraction works, and Anti-Mustang swivels toward me, smiling viciously.

"Ah, Edward _Elric_. So nice to see you. Please, go stand by your brother and follow his lead. He's acting astoundingly well, even after the… _incident_ we just briefly had with him."

I glance over at Al, and notice part of his shirt is ripped off. I shake my head inwardly, not even wanting to know what happened there.

"Hey, Edward _Elric_ , you heard the chief! Go by your bro, or eat bullets!" Anti-Havoc calls, miming a finger gun, as it seems he doesn't have any weapon on him besides a cigarette he holds in his other hand and a knife poorly stuffed into a holder on his belt.

"Jeez, everyone is _nailing_ my name today," I mutter to myself.

"What was that?" Anti-Mustang yells.

"Oh, I was just complimenting your name-calling technique. Well done, by the way! I really like how all of you put emphasis on Elric, like it's a big deal!" I say loudly. There's no point in hiding something that seemingly everyone in the whole country knows.

Anti-Mustang aims the gun at my head. "Shut up and move," he growls.

I slightly roll my eyes as I put up my hands and slowly walk over towards Al. Too much shit has happened today for me to feel threatened by any more guns pointed at my face.

Speaking of shit…

I glance ever so slyly back at the door I came through as I walk, and see no Liza or any other members of the Libs in sight.

I should've expected that much. Stupid cowards.

Once I reach Al, I notice there's a bit of blood dripping from the back of his neck that's stained his clothes, which makes me even more pissed at my sudden captors. How dare they hurt my brother AND waste a shirt at the same time!

"Hey," I mutter through the side of my mouth, "You okay?"

"Brother, they tried to kill me," Al whispers back, "Just be ready for them trying to kill you. Or me again. Whatever they feel like doing."

"Do they know who you are?" I ask, my heart beginning to race as fear oozes into it.

Al starts to reply, but shuts up when Anti-Mustang speaks again.

"Hey! Stop…doing what you're doing and slowly walk over to us, hands up!" Anti-Mustang yells, "I'd rather keep you both alive and slightly battered, but I'm sure the boss back at HQ won't mind if we have one less of you." He cocks his gun at us threateningly.

"And don't even think about trying anything!" Anti-Havoc adds triumphantly, still with his finger gun up.

"We should definitely try something," I whisper to Al as we slowly inch up to the men.

"Brother," Al hisses, "This is not the time to mess around! Who was in the castle anyway? Was it just a trap from the start?"

I subtly shake my head. "I don't think so. They seemed…well, they seemed slightly delusional when I think about it—"

Anti-Mustang fires a bullet right past my right ear, just barely glancing it. I start to feel fresh blood drip from the close encounter. "I _said_ stop what you're doing!" he growls threateningly, "Next time I'll get your ear clean off!"

"I'll tell you later," I say quickly, our captors becoming closer and closer in earshot of our conversation, "I'll take Mustang, you take Havoc."

"It's actually _Hullang_ and _Pallac,"_ Al replies, not being able to resist correcting me, even in a life-threatening situation.

"Alright, whatever. Just do it, okay?" I hiss, resisting the urge to scratch my new wound.

Al looks as if he's going to protest, but he doesn't say anything now. We're about 10 feet away now, well within the hearing span of Pallac and Hullang.

They both continue to glare at us as we approach. I keep slightly glancing at the castle to see if I can see a glimmer of the help the Libs said their mission was to give, but I see nothing.

We're for sure on our own, acting as the unarmed underdogs once more.

When we're about 3 feet away, I decide to finally take action.

"Shoot him! Shoot him now!" I scream toward the castle, making a big show of it. Immediately Pallac and Hullang's eyes shoot up toward the place I'm shouting at, and I take this brief time to dive for Hullang's legs, knocking him to the ground hard.

His eyes go wide as I pounce on top of him, trying to wrestle the gun from his hands. He starts tightening his grip on the weapon and turning it towards my chest, making my objective less about taking the gun and more about getting it away from my body. His strength is vastly superior to mine, since I haven't fought like this in a long time, so I find myself slowly slipping and allowing the firearm to pivot more and more.

Just as I feel like Hullang is going to shoot, I remember I have other body parts I can use in combat than my arms, and I knee him real hard in the stomach. I hear a satisfactory "oof" sound along with a few pops that are possibly some bones breaking, and my enemy falls back, releasing his grasp on the gun. I snatch it up swiftly, pleased with my quick thinking.

Suddenly, I hear a yelp from behind me. I swivel around to see that Pallac has a knife to Al's neck, and is sitting him so it could easily slit his throat.

"Put the gun down," Pallac requests, grinning.

"Dammit, Al!" I yell angrily, disregarding the order for the moment out of my irritation for my brother for getting caught.

"Sorry," he mouths, and then winces as the slight movement causes the knife to cut a little into his flesh.

"PUT. THE. GUN. DOWN." Hullang echoes from behind me, his breathing sounding ragged and angry. I hear his ribs crackling as he stands, and I feel slightly better as the thought of him being injured because of me appears in my mind.

However, I don't want Al to die or anything, so I sigh and gently set the gun down, my hands returning over my head.

Pallac laughs, shaking his head. "Man oh man, you are everything that the boss said you are. Rebellious, annoying, and ultimately dumb for trying to break away."

"Why don't you say that again, piss-mouth?" I taunt menacingly, glaring at Pallac with all my might. I see Al roll his eyes with exasperation at this, but I don't care what he thinks right now. After all, he's the one who got himself captured in the first place.

Pallac chuckles and turns to Hullang. "Are you hearing this kid right now?"

"Yes," Hullang grunts in reply, (hopefully) suffering from his wounds.

"Can we kill him? I mean, we got his brother right here, and they both know the same amount about the portals. Plus, lil' bro here is less resistant and not as angsty as big bro over there."

I inwardly groan at the mention of 'portals' and 'brother,' confirming that these two guys knew what Al and I are and where we came from.

"Well, I don't think killing is necessary…yet," I hear Mustang growl from behind me, " But I'm sure it'll be fine if we bring in some damaged goods." I begin to feel actual fear creep up on me again. What did he mean by 'damaged'—

Suddenly, I hear a shot come from behind me, and a feel a bullet go through my left leg.

Well, it _tries_ to go through. But it only really makes a dent on my metal prosthetic, a grim reminder that I still don't have a real leg.

I turn to Hullang, smirking at his confused demeanor. "You missed."

"No, I didn't, I…" he stops, realizing his folly, "Ah, I forgot. Metal left leg and right arm, right? I'll aim somewhere else then." He repositions his gun's aim, and I have to resist the urge to protect my pelvic area when he says 'somewhere else.' I have to focus on dodging the bullet when it comes, and maybe even taking a chance to free Al, and then rebel again. No matter what, I am not going down without a fight.

Suddenly, Hullang's gun quivers. I look at him, puzzled. He doesn't seem like the type to shake at the thought of hurting someone.

"You okay there?" I inquire.

"Shut up," he barks, annoyed, and manages to stop the vibration as quickly as it started.

Right as I see Hullang finalize his aim (he isn't in any hurry or anything) I feel like someone, or _something_ is blatantly watching me, a tingling sensation at the back of my neck signaling this. It's not Al, it's not Pallac…

I feel it again, and I forget all about Hullang and his gun and spin around suddenly, looking for the stalker.

"Hey!" Hullang screams, and a gun fires.


End file.
